Black Hole
by Winter Blake
Summary: Sequel to Small Spaces. It deals with the aftermath of Small Spaces from Dick's POV.


**Disclaimer: I own Nothing **

**Sequel to Small Spaces**

* * *

**Black Hole**

He had been known by many names.

Timothy.

Tim.

Timmy.

Robin.

Red Robin.

Drake.

Wayne.

Son.

_Little brother. _

That last one was the most important to Dick. He didn't care what anyone else thought of him, or called him. He didn't care about the pain Bruce was going through, or Tim's friends. Dick was in too much pain himself to reach out to anyone. He could barley stand his own grief, let alone another's.

And oh god it had been his fault Tim had died. Why did Tim take that bullet for him? Why wasn't Tim wearing any fucking armor?

_Why, why, why, why, why?_

The word kept swimming in Dick's head. Why had it been Tim? Tim had not deserved it. He had been such a loving person, hidden behind a carefully cultivated façade. He had been a goddamn hero, and had done so much good in the world. So why did Tim just die? Why had he experienced so much pain in his short life, when he had done nothing to deserve it? All Tim wanted to do was help people, to be loved and accepted, and he had died not knowing. He had died unaware of how loved he was.

"You do?" had been Tim's last words. His last words had been ones of disbelief, and elation when Dick said he loved him. He had not known that Dick loved him. And dammit Timmy! Why hadn't he believed it? What did Dick do to make him believe he didn't love him? Why did it have to end that way?

Why did it have to end at all?

There had been a funeral and a memorial service. The funeral had been for Timothy Drake-Wayne- adopted son of billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. The memorial service had been for Red Robin- hero. Both had been equally painful.

The funeral had come first. The press had hounded them- eager 'journalists' raring to write about the family's loss, and paparazzo ready to catch the million dollar shot. It had been a small funeral, and most of the people who came had not even really known Tim. A reminder to Dick that Tim had never really let himself live- he had been to focused on his work.

Bruce had spoken at the funeral, Dick just couldn't. He had barley been able to choke any word out for days- the only thing coming out of his mouth had been sobs, and prayers. He'd spent every night begging, _pleading_, for Tim to come back to him- for Tim to be returned safe, and warm in his arms. That had not happened.

Conner and Bart had wanted to come to the funeral, but Bruce had told them no. He said it would be too risky, because how would Tim have known them? If Dick hadn't been so consumed by his own grief he would have told Bruce to let them come- especially Conner. They had been Tim's best friends and deserved to be at the funeral and say goodbye to their friend.

Jason had come. Dick did not know why he did, nor did he really care. He didn't care about anything anymore. It was as if there was a giant hole in his heart that could never been filled. He was bleeding out, and nobody could stop it.

Dick didn't remember too much of the funeral. He remembered sobbing silently during the service, but not the words that were said, and he remembered the lowering of the casket. He'd broken when he saw it lower. Tim was in their. His baby brother was in that thing, dark and alone, and ohmygod Dick was never going to see him again. He had started hyperventilating at that realization, and panic attack coming on. Black dots has swarmed his vision, and he couldn't stop crying, and he just wanted Timmy. He just wanted his brother again. Dick had felt strong arms envelop him, and Bruce had held him as he sobbed into his chest, and Bruce had let him. He didn't tell him to be quiet, or to stop making a scene, he'd just held him close, and run his hand through Dick's hair.

"I've got you," Bruce whispered. "I've got you." Dick wasn't sure if the words had been a reassurance for him of Bruce- maybe both.

The next day the picture of Bruce holding Dick during his breakdown at the funeral was everywhere.

The memorial for Red Robin had been a bit easier, if only because he hadn't had to see Tim lowered into the ground again. Conner, Bart, and even Clark speak. Dick can't- it still hurts too much. He hasn't been able to speak properly since it happened. since that night his brother was taken from him.

Bruce is different now. He's more protective of him and Damien, and spends more time with them. Dick knows that Tim's death affected him greatly, but Bruce is still Bruce, and cannot express his emotions the way most people do. Dick can't bring himself to help Bruce- he can't bring himself to do much of anything anymore.

The nights are the worst- he dreams of Tim every night. For the first time Dick thinks he understands how Tim felt, and it crushes him. Tim had thought himself alone, and he hadn't been. He had Dick. He had his family and friends, he just had not realized it.

Dick visits Tim's grave everyday. He doesn't say very much, he just whispers "I love you" to the grave. He hopes that Tim is somewhere, and he hopes in that somewhere Tim can hear Dick. And he hopes that Tim is taking care of Dick- because most of Dick left with Tim and never returned.

**Please R&R I love reviews**


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